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Chapter 1
"Please join me in welcoming our newlyweds, Sophie and Law Kane!"
Cheers erupt in the reception hall as Law and Sophie walk in, their clasped hands raised high, and beaming smiles plastered on their faces.
"I don't think they could look any happier," Charlotte says from beside me.
"I don't think you could, either," I reply.
"Happier than watching my little sister marry a guy who worships the ground she walks on?" She chuckles. "It doesn't get much better than that."
"Except when we get married." Her boyfriend, Jackson, says to her while he cradles her nonexistent belly.
She rolls her eyes, even as her smile grows, and she places her hand over Jackson's. Then, she looks at me with exasperation.
"Jackson is trying to persuade me to marry him before the baby comes. But me, being the smart person that I am, keeps telling him that I do not want to plan for a baby and a wedding at the same time."
"Uh, excuse me." I motion my hands at myself. "If you remember correctly, I planned this entire freaking destination wedding in barely three months. You're two months pregnant. I can have a wedding and baby shower planned in that time."
"You're not helping," Charlotte grumbles at the same time that Jackson says, "See? All figured out, then."
She arches a brow at him. “All figured out except the part where you haven’t even proposed to me yet? You just, somehow, skipped right to planning a wedding.”
“Well technically, Lexa said she would plan it.” He points out. “I was just trying to persuade you to actually want the wedding right now.”
Charlotte glares at me, and I give her an apologetic smile. Then a voice comes through my earpiece at the perfect time to save me.
"We have an issue with the plates for the cake," my assistant says.
I sigh. "I'm needed in the kitchen."
"Is there a problem with the food?" Jackson hurries to ask.
Although he's the best chef I know, he decided to just have the role of being Law's best man today instead of being in the kitchen. But from how many times he's asked about the menu and the chef's experience, I can tell he's nervous that he might regret the decision if anything happens with the food.
"No, the plates," I assure him. "I'll be right back."
"Don't hurt anyone," Charlotte teases.
"There's a high possibility," I murmur mostly to myself as I begin to walk away.
I've done my best not to let it show, but planning an entire wedding, reception, and the dinner we had last night was incredibly hard considering I wasn't actually in the country it would all happen in. Three things had to be fixed before the dinner, five before the wedding ceremony began, and now, on top of me having to get a new DJ with only twelve-hour notice because the one I'd booked two months in advance had allegedly gotten food poisoning last night, there's a problem with the plates. What else can go wrong?
Then, to top it all off, I’d had the fucking Wright brothers staring at me from the Goddamn moment we all got to the airport for our flight together. If anyone had ever told me I would hate flying private, I’d have called them a damn liar. Yet, there I was four days ago, hating that there weren't more seats between me, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel. That every time I looked up from my phone or the book I kept reading the same line in, one, or both of them, were looking right back at me. Usually, both. Then, they'd lean into each other, whisper something, smirking or outright laughing when I glared at them. Even when I tried to take a nap, I just laid there with my eyes closed, feeling their gazes on me. I hated that they were, and always are, able to make my body so aware of them. That even if I didn't feel them staring at me, I doubted I would have been able to sleep with the fucking ache between my thighs that happens whenever I'm in their presence. My traitorous heart kept telling me to open my eyes, to look at what was right in front of me, because that was the part of me that I needed to notice them the very least. Nothing about Jeremiah or Ezekiel said anything about them wanting anything to do with my heart. My pussy, yes. Heart, no.
And Lord knows, my body wanted all sorts of things from both of them, but more often than I wanted it to, and much more than I was comfortable with, it was another part of me that had my eyes drifting over to them. Sophie and Law got married on a cliff, and I should have been focused on them speaking their vows to one another, to baby Shawn sleeping in Jeremiah's arms as he stood behind Ezekiel in the line of Law's groomsmen, but no. I was still feeling the warmth of my hand being in the crook of Ezekiel's arm as we walked down the aisle. I, at least, should have been noticing the beauty of the scenery around us, but all I could think of was if I would ever, could ever, love someone enough to have a moment like this in my future. And asking myself why I kept looking back and forth between Ezekiel and Jeremiah as I asked myself that. I couldn't figure it out. I'd sworn off feelings and anything to do with them a long time ago. So, why was I so confused when it came to them?
Of course, that bastard Jeremiah had noticed me staring and gave me a damn one-sided smirk. I hated that smirk because of what it made me feel. I loved that smirk enough that it had begun to show up in my mind when I least expected it to. Then, Ezekiel looked at me, too, and before his brow even arched, I knew it was coming. It was their thing. Jeremiah's smirk and Ezekiel's arched brow. I hated that I even knew it about them. But knowing it didn't stop the way both of their expressions only had me realizing all over again how damn good they both looked in their suits. How they'd look even better with them off.
Sometimes, I wonder if this was only all because of what I said that night at Charlotte's party; my sexual fantasy about being with two men. Was that the only reason they'd been giving me sexy looks and murmuring filthy words to me for months now? Or were they interested before? Why am I even wondering? It doesn't matter because that's one urge I'm not giving in to. Even if I desperately want to.
"Okay, what's going on?" I ask once I reach the kitchen.
My assistant, Heather, holds up two very different plates. "Somehow, there are twenty of these." She shakes the white and gold plate, then picks up a white and silver plate, “And fifteen of these."
I look at the different plates before pinching the bridge of my nose. "How the hell did they manage to put fifteen of the wrong plates?"
"I called them and they're insisting that's the order you placed."
